The Shell Seekers (13 page)

"I think it's perfect. You look clean and crisp as ... I don't know. A brand-new paper bag?"

Antonia giggled. "Daddy says you must come. People have started to arrive."

"Is my mother there?"

"Yes, she's out on the terrace, looking fantastic. Oh, do come. . . ." She grabbed Olivia's hand and tugged her out through the door, and hand in hand, under the lights, they made their way down the terrace. Olivia saw Penelope already deep in conversation with some man and knew that she had been right, for in her silken caftan and her inherited jewels, her mother looked, indeed, like an Empress.

After that evening, the whole pattern of their lives at Ca'n D'alt changed. After weeks of aimless solitude, it seemed that now they never had a day to themselves. Invitations flooded in, for dinner parties, picnics, barbecues, boat trips. Cars came and went, there never seemed to be fewer than a dozen people around the swim-ming pool, and many of them were youngsters of Antonia's age. Cosmo finally got around to fixing the wind-surfing lessons, and they would all drive down to the beach where these were held, and Olivia and Penelope would lie on the sand, ostensibly watching Antonia's efforts to master the maddeningly difficult sport, but actually engaged in Penelope's favourite occupation, which was people-watching. As the people they watched on this particular beach, both young and old, were almost totally naked, her comments were hilarious and the two of them spent most of the time in hopeless, goggle-eyed giggles.

Sometimes, every now and then, came the gift of a lazy day. Then they never stirred from the house and the garden, and Pe-nelope, wearing an old straw hat and looking, with her newly acquired tan and her shabby cotton dress, like a native Ibecenco, found a pair of secateurs and attacked Cosmo's straggling roses. They swam constantly, for exercise and refreshment, and when the evenings grew cooler, went for little rural strolls, through cornfields and past small houses and farmyards where naked-bottomed babies played happily in the dust along with the goats and the hens, while their mothers unpegged washing, or drew water from the well.

When it was time, at last, for Penelope to leave, none of them wanted her to go. Cosmo, goaded by Olivia and his daughter, formally invited her to stay for longer but, though touched, she refused.

"After three days, fish and guests stink, and I've been with you for a month."

"But you're not a fish nor a guest, and you don't stink a bit," Antonia assured her.

"You're very sweet, but I must get home. I've been away too long already. My garden will never forgive me."

"You'll come again, though, won't you?" Antonia insisted.

Penelope did not reply. Across the silence, Cosmo looked up and into Olivia's eyes.

"Oh, do say you'll come."

Penelope smiled and patted the child's hand. "Maybe," she told her. "One day."

They all went to the airport to see her off. Even after they had said goodbye to her, they lingered on, waiting to watch her plane take off. When it had gone, the sound of engines fading, dying into the immensity of the sky, and there was no longer any reason to stay, they turned and went back to the car and drove home in silence.

"It doesn't seem the same without her, does it?" Antonia said sadly as they made their way down the terrace.

"Nothing ever does," Olivia told her.

Podmore's Thatch, Temple Sudbury, Glos.

Aug 17th

My dear Olivia and Cosmo
,

How can I thank you for being so endlessly kind and for giving me such an unforgettable holiday? No day passed when I did not feel welcome and cherished, and I have returned home with as many memories as a crowded photograph album. Ca'n D'alt is a truly magic place, your friends charming and so hospitable, and the island—even, or perhaps I should say especially, the topless beaches—quite fascinating. I miss you all so mucn, in particular Antonia. It is a long time since I have spent so much rewarding time with such an enchanting young person. I could go on drivelling for ever, but I think you both know how grateful I am. I am sorry I have not written before, but there hasn't been a moment. The garden is a riot of weeds and the rosebeds are nothing but dead heads. Perhaps I should find a gardener.

Talking of gardeners, I stopped off in London for a couple of days on my way home, stayed with the Fnedmanns and went to a delicious concert at the Festival Hall. Also took the earrings to Collingwood's to be valued, as you said I must, and you won't believe it, but the man said they were worth at least £4,000. When I'd finished fainting I inquired about insuring them, but the premium quoted was so enormous, I simply took them to the bank as soon as I got home, and left them there. Poor things, they seem doomed to spend their lives in the bank. I could sell them, I suppose, but they are so pretty. Still, nice to know that they're there, and the money realizable if I suddenly decide to do something mad, like buy myself a motor tractor for cutting the grass. (This explains reference to gardeners.)

Nancy and George and the children came for lunch last Sunday, ostensibly to hear about Ibiza, but really to tell me the iniquities of the Croftways, and how they had been invited to luncheon by the Lord Lieutenant. I gave them pheasant and fresh cauliflower from the garden, and apple crumble laced with mincemeat and brandy, but Melanie and Rupert grizzled and argued, and made no effort to disguise their boredom. Nancy is useless with them, and George doesn't seem even to notice their appalling manners. I became so irritated with Nancy that, to tease, I told her about the earrings. She showed no particular interest—she never once went to see poor Aunt Ethel—until I came to the magic words, four thousand pounds, whereupon she sprang to attention, for all the world like a gun dog scenting game. Her mind has always been easy to read, and I knew that her imagination was racing ahead, perhaps to Melanie's coming-out dance, with a paragraph or two in the social page of Harpers and Queen. "Mel-anie Chamberlain, one of the prettiest debutantes this year, wore white lace and her grandmother's famous gold-and-ruby earrings." Perhaps I was mistaken.

How cruel I am, and disloyal to my daughter, but I cannot resist sharing the little joke with you.

My thanks again. So inadequate, but what other words are there for gratitude.

With love, 

Penelope
.

The months passed. Christmas came and went. Now it was February. There had been rain and some storms, and they spent much of their time indoors with a blazing fire, but all at once came a breath of spring to the air, blossom on the almond trees, and enough warmth at midday to sit for a little while out of doors.

February. By now Olivia believed that she knew everything there was to know about Cosmo. But she was wrong. One afternoon, walking up from the garden with a basket of little bantams' eggs in her hand, she heard a car approaching, and stopping beneath the olive tree. As she climbed the steps to the terrace, she saw a strange man coming towards her. Obviously a local, but dressed more formally than was the usual, in a brown suit and collar and tie. On his head was a straw hat, and he carried a folder of papers.

She smiled inquiringly and he doffed the hat. "Buenos dias."

"
Buenos dias
."

"Senor Hamilton?"

Cosmo was indoors, writing letters.

"Yes?"

He spoke in English. "If I could see him. Tell him Carlos Barcello. I will wait."

Olivia went in search of Cosmo and found him at his desk in the living room.

"You have a visitor," she told him. "By the name of Carlos Barcello."

"Carlos? Oh, God, I forgot he was coming." He laid down his pen and got to his feet. "Better go and have a word." He left her, running down the stairs. She heard his greeting. "
Hombrel
" 

She took the eggs into the kitchen and laid them, one by one, into a yellow china bowl. Then, filled with curiosity, she went to the window and watched Cosmo and Mr. Barcello, whoever he was, making their way down to the swimming pool, deep in con-versation. They stayed there for a bit and then returned to the terrace, where they spent some time inspecting the well. After that she heard them come indoors, but they appeared to get no farther than the bedroom. The lavatory was flushed. She wondered if Mr. Barcello was a plumber.

They went out onto the terrace again. There was a bit more chat, and then they said goodbye and she heard Mr. Barcello's car start up and drive away. Presently Cosmo's footsteps sounded on the stairs, and she heard him going into the living room, throw a log on the fire and, presumably, settle down once more to his letter-writing.

It was nearly five o'clock. She boiled a kettle and made a pot of tea, and carried this through to him.

"Who was that?" she asked, setting down the tray.

He was still writing, "Um?"

"Who was your visitor? Mr. Barcello."

He turned in his chair to smile at her in some amusement.

"Why do you sound so curious?"

"Well, of course I'm curious. I've never seen him before. And he's pretty smartly turned out for a plumber."

"Who said he was a plumber?"

"Isn't he?"

"Good God, no," said Cosmo. "He's my landlord."

"Your
landlord
?"

"Yes, my landlord."

She felt, all at once, shivery with cold. She folded her arms across her chest, gazing at him; willing him, in some way, to explain to her that she had misunderstood, was mistaken.

"You mean you don't own this house?"

"No."

"You've lived here for twenty-five years and you don't own it."

"I told you. No."

It seemed to Olivia almost obscene. The house, so lived-in, full of their shared memories; the tended garden, the little swimming pool; the view. It wasn't Cosmo's. Never had been. It all belonged to Carlos Barcello.

"Why did you never buy it?"

"He would never sell."

"You never thought of looking for another?"

"I didn't want another house." He got to his feet, slowly, as though the letter-writing had wearied him. He pushed the chair aside and went to take a cigar from the box on the shelf over the fireplace. With his back to her, he went on, "And anyway, once Antonia started school, I was committed to paying her fees. After that, I couldn't afford to buy anything." There was a jar of spills on the hearth and he stooped to take one and held it to the flames for a light.

I couldn't afford to buy anything
. They had never talked about money. The subject was one that had never come up between them. During the months that they had been together, Olivia had, without question, chipped in with her share of the ordinary day-to-day expenses of living. Paying for a carton of groceries at the market checkout, or a tankful of petrol. Some-times, as naturally happens, he would find himself short of ready cash, and then Olivia picked up the bill for drinks in a bar or one of their occasional evenings out. She was, after all, not penniless, and just because she was living with Cosmo did not mean that she expected to be kept by him. Questions stirred at the back of her mind, but she felt afraid to ask them, because she was afraid of what the answers might be.

She watched him in silence. The cigar lighted, he threw the spill into the flames and turned to face her, his shoulders supported by the mantelshelf.

He said, "You look very shocked."

"I am shocked, Cosmo. I find it almost impossible to believe. It goes against the grain of something I feel most strongly about. To own your own house has always seemed to me the most important of priorities. It gives you security in every sense of the word. Oakley Street belonged to my mother, and because of that, as children, we always felt safe. Nobody could take it away from us. One of the best feelings in the world was coming home, indoors, off the street, and closing the door and knowing you were home."  He made no comment on this, only asked her, "Do you own your house in London?"

"Not yet. But I shall in two years' time, when I finally pay off the building society."

"What a business woman you are."

"You don't have to be a business woman to work out that it's uneconomic to pay rent for twenty-five years and at the end of the day have nothing to show for it."

"You think I'm a fool."

"Cosmo, no. I don't think that. I suppose I can see how it all came about, but that doesn't stop me being concerned."

"For me."

"Yes, for you. I've just realized that I've been living with you all this time, and never given a thought to what we've been living on."

"Do you want to know?"

"Not unless you want to tell me."

"The income from a few investments that my grandfather left me, and my Army Pension."

"And that's all?"

"That's the sum of it."

"And if anything should happen to you, your Army Pension will die with you."

"Naturally." He grinned at her, trying to coax a smile into her intent and frowning face. "But let's not bury me just yet. I am, after all, only fifty-five."

"But Antonia?"